Ch. 3:
Down the Kebab and Calculator
(Donner kebab? But I've already eaten!)

"Guys, I'm nervous," Neil whimpered. "We haven't practiced nearly enough." He thought for a moment. "We haven't really practiced at all! When we tried to rehearse, Vyvyan just ended up breaking a garden gnome over Rick's head." The other three gave him a look that said We were there. It was yesterday, you know. "In case you'd forgotten," clarified the hippy.

Mike sighed, exasperated with his fellow's obvious stupidity. "Neil, don't worry. As soon as I get onstage, no one will care about the music, if you know what I mean." He continued to stride more quickly than the other three, despite his shorter legs.

"Mike, I must say, it was very nice of you to make me carry your bass as well as my drums. They're really rather heavy. But are you sure you don't want to take it back now?" Rick called from down the block. Indeed, he was lugging both a large set of drums and a bass.

"Thanks for the offer, Rick, but I'm good as I am," Mike asserted with a wink.

"Oh, good. Great, Mike," Rick said with a forced smile.

"Hurry up, you pansy!" yelled the punk. "I want to hear the end of the Killer Buzzsaw's set!"

"Well, considering you like them, I don't particularly care, actually, Vyvyan! In case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly share a taste in music," Rick said haughtily. "I like Cliff Richards, and you seem to be more of a Sex Pistols person. I don't consider the Sex Pistols to be particularly sophisticated, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, well, we also don't share a bed, but it doesn't mean we can't both enjoy them! They're bloody brilliant!" Vyvyan roared. "Not that I'd ever want to share a bed with you, you fairy!"

"Guys, guys, we shouldn't be fighting like this!" Neil protested

"Then how should they be fighting, Neil? I think they're doing a pretty good job at it, actually," Mike gave another suave wink.

"Have you got something in your eye, Michael?" Vyvyan asked. "It's only that you keep blinking."

"No, Vyvyan," Rick spat acidly. "He's winking! It's supposed to be sexy."

"And I suppose you find it sexy, don't you, you poofy virgin!" Vyvyan said, adjusting his hold on his guitar.

"No, of course not, Vyvyan! And I am NOT a virgin!"

"Virgin! Virgin! Virgin! Rick is a virgin!" Vyvyan yelled loudly in a sing-songy voice. For good measure, he kicked Rick in the backside, making him nearly drop the instruments loaded in his arms. "That'd be a good addition to the song I'm writing."

"Oh, are you writing another song, Vyv?" asked Neil innocently.

"Yah, it's quite inspired, actually. It goes like this:
THERE'S A GUY I KNOW NAMED RICK
HE'S RATHER A PRICK
HE'S A POOF AND A FAIRY
AND HE'S ALSO VERY
UUUUUGGGGGLLLLYY!
HE'S A VIRGIN
A VIRGIN
A VIRGIN
OH YEEEAAAHH!"

"That is the worst piece of drivel I have ever heard, Vyvyan. I certainly hope you aren't planning on performing that tonight!" Rick protested.

"I was, actually, but I suppose, just since you don't like it, I could take it off the program, just for you, Rick," Vyvyan answered sardonically. He, Neil, and Mike entered the back door of the Kebab and Calculator, with Rick still lagging behind with the overload of instruments.

"Hurry up, Rick! We go on in half an hour!" Mike called down the block, sticking his head out the door.

"Well, Mike, if you could just give me a hand with your bass, I might be able to get there by then....." Rick hinted, but Mike just stood, watching, with a bemused look. "No, no, of course not. Be there in a minute!"

(a minute goes by.....)

"See, Mike, I told you I'd be here!" Rick exclaimed.

"Yeah, Rick, but now we're not there anymore, we're here." This was true. Vyvyan, Mike, and Neil had moved on stage, setting up their equipment.

"Oh, right, that's just typical, isn't it? Leave the anarchist to carry all the gear, that's right!"

"What are you on about, Rick? We're not making you carry the stuff because you're an anarchist," guaranteed Neil, defensively.

"Yeah. It's because you're a bastard," Vyvyan interjected. Mike and Neil nodded their unabashed agreement.

"Well, fine then! Maybe I'll just quit the band! Let's see how you like that!" fumed Rick. In response, Mike and Vyvyan slapped hands. Rick realized his mistake. "Actually," he clarified, "actually, I wouldn't leave if you shook my hand and called me Rita!" He thought hard for a moment. "I mean, unless you..... gave......me...... money?" He nodded, satisfied with his insufficient and too-late retort.

An oily man in checkered trousers came out from back-stage. "You boys, er, almost ready then, are you?"

"Yes, thank you Mr. Blighter. We'll be ready in a moment," Mike replied. The pub was beginning to fill with dead-beats and punks, muttering among themselves about the expected lack of quality at the show.